


(Don't Know When I'll) See You Again

by Makeyourbodyacanvas



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adoption, Alive Carla Yeager, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asshole Grisha Yeager, Discussion of Abortion, F/F, F/M, Given Up At Birth, Isabel and Eren are Related, Kenny Ackerman Being an Asshole, M/M, Married Levi/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman & Levi Are Siblings, Mild Language, Multi, Open Marriage, Open Relationships, Roadtrip, Self-Discovery, Teen Pregnancy, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makeyourbodyacanvas/pseuds/Makeyourbodyacanvas
Summary: For as long as she could remember, seventeen-year-old Dawsyn Reiss-Braun knew three things:1. She was the apple of her parents eyes.2. They had what was known as an "open relationship" with her mother's personal yoga instructor.3. She was adopted.These facts have always been apart of Dawsyn's life, and even though she always had everything and anything she ever wanted, she couldn't help but wonder—who are her biological parents? Before she starts college, Dawsyn sets out to discover the parents who gave her up at infancy. But what happens when there's a possibility of meeting them face-to-face?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Inspired by "Find A Stranger, Say Goodbye" by Lois Lowry*
> 
> This is my first time posting on this site, so I apologize in advance if anything is messed up.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the first chapter!

"I say to hell with college! They can keep their fancy written letters covered with anxiety away from me. I just want to eat cake and be happy."

Sasha Blouse declared loudly, her face stuffed with potato chips. Everyone nodded their heads; they felt the same exact way. It was that time of year when they all sat around each other's homes, trying to think of anything but college. It didn't work, though. They all had applied to college and they were all stressing out. All they had wanted to do was enjoy their summer as senior year was coming to a close, but they couldn't even do that now. Not with their futures being determined by a flimsy piece of paper. It was nerve wracking, and they all looked like they needed a week's worth of sleep.   
  
Dawsyn Reiss-Braun especially looked like she was dead on her feet. She was glad to be sprawled out on Sasha's basement floor that Saturday night. Like the rest of them, she had been stressing about her acceptance letters, but there was something else that had been bothering her recently, something she didn't mention often.   
  
Mina Carolina groaned. "Even if I do get an acceptance letter, there needs to be the word scholarship at the bottom, or I can't go." She stole the chip out of Sasha's hand and ignored the pout the girl gave her. "This waiting is going to kill me. My dad swears I'm going to get one, but I don't know. How many people got a scholarship for playing volleyball from our school? None. That's how many."   
  
"I hate waiting," Sasha said. "We've waited four years to graduate from high school just to wait around for college. What's the next thing I'm going to have to wait for?"   
  
"A job," Dawsyn piped up.   
  
"No, to get married." Mina giggled. She extended her left hand and wiggled her fingers.    
  
Dawsyn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."   
  
"Yeah, right," Sasha mimicked her, then she turned back to Mina. "You're so lucky. I bet Franz will propose to you the second he graduates."   
  
"You think so?" Mina looked at her with surprise, hope. "That would be so romantic!"   
  
"Connie doesn't have a romantic bone in his body." Sasha still had a goofy look on her face when she mentioned her boyfriend, though. She and Connie had been dating since middle school, and minus their separations throughout high school, everyone knew that the two of them were meant to be. "The only thing left to do is to find a man for our little Syn."   
  
"Ha," Dawsyn snorted with disdain.   
  
"She's right, Syn," Mina said, eyes wide. "You're so gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that I was jealous of you before we became friends. I mean, have you seen yourself?"   
  
Dawsyn laughed. "Yeah, I have. I kinda miss my baby fat."   
  
Both her friends looked at her like she admitted to running over a dog.   
  
"You miss your baby fat?" Sasha parroted back at her. She leaned forward on the couch and poked Dawsyn in the cheek. "I've never known anyone who misses their baby fat."   
  
"I was a cute kid," Dawsyn mused.    
  
"But losing it made you hotter," Sasha said. She shoved another handful of chips into her mouth. "And you've already been accepted to Trost.  _ The motherfucking University of Trost! _ And your parents can afford tuition. God, you're so lucky. What did you write about for the "who are you" section of your essay? Was it about the horseshoe you have up your ass?"   
  
Dawsyn snatched the bag away. "No, it actually asked what's one the biggest heralds I had to overcome." She munched happily on the chips.   
  
"Was being too perfect your answer?" Mina asked jokingly.    
  
"I put swimming with a tampon shoved up my vagina."   
  
They all laughed.    
  
It turned out to be a good night. The snow had quickly faded during the beginning of the new year, but it was still cold for April. It didn't feel like summer was around the corner, and that made it harder for the senior class. Though there was nothing left to be done, it felt like graduation would never come. The English teacher who had been a hard ass from day one was now just popping in a movie, or letting students cut class. Four years of French conjugations were no longer being taught, and now the teacher was talking about the sights and foods. It turned out to be a traveling agency for France than an actual class now. They would even use the Food & Nutrition classroom to make crêpes. On extra lazy days the girls would flip through fashion magazines and talk about gossip. The boys would either look through the sports magazine, or flip through the pages hoping to catch a shirtless model.   
  
And despite their worries, Sasha and Mina would get into college. And Mina, who had the highest GPA score out of the entire senior class, would get into the school of her dreams. She would get a scholarship, too.   
  
Franz had already been accepted into Yale, which was a distance from Mina's choice of Sheena University, but they didn't see it as important. Connie was going to community college, and even though Sasha had applied to multiple four year colleges, she was leaning more towards community, too.    
  
It was part of the senior ritual to prepare for the upcoming springtime, just like it was part of the ritual to find a way to deal with the boredom. They just had to do something to pass the time.    
  
Footsteps made their way down the basement stairs, and Meredith, Sasha's sister, stood on the landing. Meredith was a year younger: sixteen, skinny, a brunette, and freckles all over her face. People always said that Meredith was the cute sister, probably because she was softer around the edges. Sasha was loud and couldn't stop stuffing her face with food to save her life. They were nothing alike, but they were friends.    
  
"Sasha, mom wants you to set the table."   
  
"Tell me one thing."   
  
"Hm?"   
  
"What did mom make?"   
  
Meredith rolled her eyes and walked back up the stairs.    
  
"I should probably get going," Dawsyn said.   
  
"Me, too," Mina said. "I have to check the mail."   
  
"Mere, tell mom I'll be up in a minute!" Sasha shouted. She walked her friends to the door, and Meredith wished them a goodnight.    
  
Dawsyn huddled in Mina's car, turning on the heat full blast. They didn't live far from Sasha, and they were almost next door neighbors. It made sense for them to carpool to and from places every once in a while.    
  
"I'll see you later," Mina said.    
  
Dawsyn had her key in the lock and twisted the knob. "I'll drive us Monday," she said before she walked inside her home.    
  
Her parents were still out, and she was all alone. These were the nights that she wished she had a sibling.    
  
She grabbed a granola bar and went straight to her room. She stripped out her clothes and threw on something comfortable, and as she pulled up her sweats, Dawsyn noticed that she could see herself in the bathroom mirror. Her long black hair, vibrant green eyes, and natural tan skin that made all the other girls jealous was all that she saw. She had been told her whole life that she was beautiful, but beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.   
  
Dawsyn never considered herself beautiful. If looks were counted for, then she supposed she was good looking. Sometimes she felt like she was too skinny, or too short. The only attribute that she was proud to show off were her eyes. She had always loved her eyes. They were almost pure green, brighter than any emerald she had ever seen. Sometimes, when in different lighting, they looked like they had blue in them, too.   
  
She wondered which parent she got them from.   
  
She wondered why that even mattered.   
  
Dawsyn opened her laptop and slumped in her chair. As the page took its time to load, her eyes drifted to the picture sitting at the corner of her desk. It had been taken years ago when her parents took her to Disneyland for the first time. She had a huge, infectious smile on her face. Then she examined her parents. Historia Reiss-Braun was a petite woman with blonde hair in a tidy pleat updo, parted down the middle in the front, large blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face. Reiner Braun had slightly long blond hair, hazel eyes, possessed a short goatee, and a defined facial structure. His large height, broad shoulders, and serious expression gave him an intimidating presence.   
  
It was hilarious that they thought they could hide the fact that Dawsyn was adopted. She was the exact opposite of what her parents were.    
  
Her father, who Dawsyn looked up to, was wrapped around her fingers ever since she had been a baby. It was quite funny to watch a man who was so far up in the ranks of the military succumbing to play tea party with a crown too small for his head, crouched in a chair that would have collapsed under his weight if he hadn't kneeled instead. Dawsyn had always bragged about her father, he was one of her favorite subjects to talk about growing up. He had been the one to teach her how to properly make a fist, taught her how to defend herself if he was never around to protect her, and he had been the one to get her her favorite ice cream before they had went home and told her mom how she sprained her ankle.    
  
Her mother was the sweetest person Dawsyn knew. The illegitimate daughter of a very wealthy man, Historia Reiss-Braun didn't have a happy childhood. But instead of letting that experience turn her bitter, Historia turned to art and fell in love with colors, lights and changes; all the different things needed to capture an emotion and enclose it forever. She had met her husband in Europe, Germany to be exact, and they moved back to America where they settled young; Historia becoming a military wife in an quiet, uncomplicated town. And although they lived in one of the more richer neighborhoods, Dawsyn knew that none of the other homes were filled with so much vibrancy from art that sometimes startled them all. That was all due to Historia.   
  
She owed her parents everything. She had never went without nothing, and she knew that they spoiled her. But that was to be expected. The couple had always wanted children, but there were infertility issues, and somehow they had found Dawsyn and she became their entire world.    
  
From outside her window, Dawsyn heard gravel crunching. A minute later the front door opened.   
  
"Dawsyn, honey, are you home?!"   
  
"I'm in my room, mom!"   
  
"Well, come down here! Say hello to Ymir!"   
  
Dawsyn called downstairs from her bedroom door. "I'll be down in a minute!"   
  
"Ok," Historia said happily.   
  
Dawsyn rolled her eyes affectionately. No one outside their home knew, but her parents had what was known as on open marriage. They never brought any of their partners around when Dawsyn was a child, but then Ymir Fritz came into the picture. She was Historia's personal yoga instructor, and after two years of hiding, Dawsyn's parents had sat her down and explained that they had established a relationship with Ymir. Of course it was weird at first; Dawsyn was weary of Ymir, but once she had gotten past the older woman's tough exterior she found herself actually enjoying Ymir's company. And she made her parents happy, so Dawsyn gave her a free pass.   
  
Shutting her computer down, Dawsyn picked up the sheet of paper that laid in the cluttered mess and sighed.   
  
The two of them hadn't been happy two months ago. They hadn't been so accepting of what she had written on the paper. Her mother's face had crumpled up, and she had started to cry.   
  
Her father couldn't even look at her. "Dawsyn," he had said, like a question, and turned away from her. He had been stiff, puzzled, and hurt. Dawsyn was sure that she had seen a flicker of anger, too. They both had looked pain.    
  
They didn't bring it up again. Which was odd, considering that Dawsyn knew that she could talk to her parents about anything. For years they had been open, about feelings; the birds and the bees; love, relationships. Nothing seemed to be off limits. But then she had shown them the paper, and their faces had said it all. It was just something they had never been able to talk about.   
  
And it annoyed Dawsyn. She just wanted whatever she could get. But, instead, life went on in her household. Her father now worked within the government, her mother spent most of her days attending all the classes she had signed up for, and Dawsyn had been occupied with last minute things going on in school. There were looks, though—glances she caught between her parents. At times those looks would shift in her direction, but would drop just as quickly when they noticed that she was watching them. Dawsyn could still see the look of anguish on their faces sometimes, and it made her chest ache. She hadn't meant to hurt her parents, but since they wouldn't talk to her, they did the next best thing and pretended that everything was fine.    
  
Once her mother's half-sister, Aunt Freida, had sent Historia a horrible vase painted with yellow and black bumble bees covering the whole thing. Aunt Freida explained in her letter that an aspiring Italian artist had handcrafted the entire piece, and somewhere within clay was a saintly medallion that would protect the house from negative spirits.    
  
"This is going to stick out like a sore thumb," her mother had grumbled to herself as she sat the vase on the fire mantel. "Why don't we pack it up and drop it off at Goodwill?"   
  
"Krista," her father had said, using her mother's nickname. "Your sister stops by unannounced all the time. Don't be rude. We'll just keep it out for a few months."   
  
"Fine," her mother had whined. They all stepped back to examine the new piece. "I'm just going to pretend it's not there."   
  
Dawsyn couldn't blame her mother. The vase was hideous.    
  
"Ymir, do you see a vase with bumble bees on it?"    
  
"Nope," Ymir, who always entertained Historia's antics to annoy Reiner, smirked.   
  
"A vase?" Asked Dawsyn, playing the confused part. "With bumble bees on it? What uncultured swine would have such a thing?"   
  
Reiner huffed, amused. "Not the Reiss-Brauns, that's for sure. We're very tasteful people. Krista, dear, you might want to have your eyes checked."   
  
The vase had sat there for months. And one afternoon, a week after Aunt Frieda had stopped over, Dawsyn had heard something shatter against the hardwood floors downstairs. She had found her mother picking up the yellow and black clay pieces, dropping them into the trash can.   
  
"It just appeared out of nowhere," Historia had said. "I was cleaning the mantel, and it startled me. Why, it was almost like it was invisible."   
  
"I'm sure it was an accident." Dawsyn grinned. She helped her mother clean up.    
  
Now they were playing the game again. If they could pretend that the paper didn't exist, then it wouldn't.    
  
But it did. Dawsyn had to write it. She had to make them read it.   
  
And they would have to talk to her about it. Even if it hurt them.

* * *

Trost University's application was no different from any others. After answering the usual, routine questions about her high school grades and extracurricular activities, and after putting in her SAT information, Dawsyn got to the bottom of the page. There were two questions she had to answer, and they left two pages blank for her to answer.

It was usually questions about the most interesting or meaningful thing that had happened to the applicant in the past few years. It was those questions that panicked Falmouth, Maine, high school seniors and their guidance counselor, because nothing very exciting happened in Falmouth, Maine.   
  
The first question—about a time when she faced a challenge, setback, or failure—was easy to answer. She wrote about her broken ankle and how it affected her volleyball season. It happened right before practices started, right before senior year, and she had been depressed about not being able to play for the first month. Physical therapy was a pain in the ass, but it was the quickest way she'd be able to jump back into the game once she didn't need the crutches anymore. And once she had been cleared to play, she wasn't the dominating captain of the court like she usually was. The thought of breaking her ankle again was constantly in the back of her mind, and it drove her crazy that she couldn't get over a stupid injury. She gave her father the props he deserved. If it hadn't been for him sharing the story about how he almost lost his legs during his time in the military, and how he overcame his fears, Dawsyn would have let her uncertainties ruin her last year of playing the sport she loved.   
  
It was the second question that she struggled with. Trost had worded the big question a little differently than most. Their question went as followed: Describe a problem you've solved or a problem you'd like to solve. It can be an intellectual challenge, a research query, an ethical dilemma—anything that is of personal importance, no matter the scale. Explain its significance to you and what steps you took or could be taken to identify a solution.   
  
Dawsyn had stared at the screen for a long time. Then she sat up straight, cracked her fingers, and started to type.   
  
_ A problem I would like to solve is to discover who my parents are. _   
  
_ My name is Dawsyn Rory Reiss-Braun. My name has no meaning behind it, but my mother's mother thought that the alternative spelling was more feminine. My grandmother, Alma Mater, was the mistress of Senator Rod Reiss, who died before I was born. They were both very well known. My mother, who was their only child, is not a famous person, but she is artistic, and tells fascinating stories about growing up with such an unusual family. _ __  
  
_ My father, Reiner Braun, is a highly decorated soldier. He graduated from Marleyan Military School and served overseas before he decided to settle in Maine. Today there is an organization at our local hospital named Braun's Veterans Benefits after my father, and its purpose is to help the troops with any scars that they may have. It happened two years ago, when the community got together and raised the money to help pay for it and to name it in his honor. It makes me very proud to see his name there. _ __  
__  
_ A close family friend, Ymir, has become a second mother to me. She's the perfect balance between my parents. _ __  
__  
_ But my parents adopted me when I was five days old. Of course I have developed characteristics that are like theirs, because they have been my family for seventeen years. But my real parentage is a complete mystery to me. Somewhere there are two people who created me, and I don't know who they are. I have black hair, and deep green eyes. Genetically, that's an unusual combination. Where does it come from? I don't know. _ __  
__  
_ Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering what the story is behind my birth. Why did they give me away? Did they even want me? It makes me angry, puzzled, and sad. Somewhere, I think, it must make them feel the same way. I can't believe that they have forgotten me. _ __  
  
_ I am sure that this will affect me not only for the next four years, but for my entire life, at least until I find the answers. _ __  
__  
_ I intend to work very hard at college, because I want to join the U.S. Army Intelligence and Security Command. But at the same time, I have determined that in order to solve my problem I am going to try to find my biological parents. I don't know how. But I am sure there must be a way. _ __  
  
The essay covered the two pages. After she had written it, she copied and pasted it into her notes and printed it out.   
  
She went back to the application page and deleted what she wrote.   
  
She started again.   
  
_ Last spring, during a school research project, my biology class identified a source of pollution flowing into a local ponds. Helping our community meant a lot to us since we had all played in those area as children, and we wanted to do more. I was in charge of contacting the local authorities and worked with them to set up a better monitoring system to prevent future spills. _ __  
__  
She went on, filling the entire page until her fingers began to cramp. It was the second essay that she carefully overlooked and sent in with her application.   
  
But it was the first one she had showed to her parents.   
  
"Why?" her mother had asked, taken by complete surprise. "Why, Dawsyn? Why does it matter? You've been our daughter since you were an infant. Your father and I never thought about you differently even though you're adopted. Have we done something wrong? Have we made you feel different?"   
  
Dawsyn shook her head and bit her lip. "No, mom." But she didn't explain why—there was no way to. She really didn't understand it herself, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had. This was something she needed to do, needed to know. Her mind was made up.   
  
And when she looked over at her father, his face was troubled, but he knew that Dawsyn had made her decision. That didn't mean he had to like it.   
  
"Syn," he finally said. "I don't know what to say. What good could come of this?"   
  
"I don't know," she said, a little too defensively. She had hoped that they would at least try to understand. "I just need to know. I'm tired of the secrets."   
  
That made her father angry. "Secrets? Dawsyn, your mother and I have kept no secrets from you. We know nothing of your biological parents. That's how it should be. Your adoption was arranged through professionals who never disclosed that information to us. Nor did we ask them to. You became our daughter from that day on, and as far as we're concerned, there isn't any reason to think otherwise. You were conceived; born; you entered our lives; and became our daughter."   
  
"But there is a reason to think otherwise. I wasn't conceived by you, born to you. Don't tell me that doesn't make a difference. I want to know who gave birth to me. I want to know why the hell they gave me away."   
  
Her mother touched her arm. "Dawsyn, those things don't matter. They really don't."   
  
"But they do matter," Dawsyn stressed. She stared into her mother's watery eyes, trying to get her to understand. "They matter to me."   
  
"Syn, let your mother and I talk about this together." Her father ran a hand over his face and sighed. He looked tired, like the conversation had drained him. "Right now we're both upset. Give us time, and then we'll all discuss it again."   
  
Dawsyn felt her patience snap, and she glared at him. "And you don't think I am? This is about my damn life!"   
  
As a child, Dawsyn had anger issues. She use to get into fights a lot and disobeyed her teachers more than once. Her parents had been at their wits end, and had signed her up for anger management. It had been years since her last session, and she could say with pride that therapy did help, but she had her moments when she allowed her anger to get the best of her, and that had been one of those nights.    
  
In fact, it had all happened two months.    
  
Her parents hadn't mentioned it since.    
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am not adopted, and I do not know anyone who is. I did look around the internet for adoption stories to inspire me since my knowledge on actual feelings and events are completely foreign on the matter.

By the time May rolled around Dawsyn was fighting with one of her good friends, Boris Feulner. 

  
It was rare to get into an argument with him, but Dawsyn appreciated that it was easy to do so. She'd never met a person like him during a fight. He would listen to what she had to say, took her seriously, and politely stated his opinion. They obviously passed their debate class with flying colors.    
  
But that wasn't one of those days. Boris frowned at her. "That's fucking stupid."   
  
They were sitting in her car, in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot during lunch. They were one of the few schools left in their district that allowed the seniors to go off campus for their ninety minute lunch period. Their usual order was already made up, waiting for them before they had even walked through the door. Dawsyn was addicted to their mocha iced coffees with extra cream and sugar, and Boris always went for a vanilla iced latte with whip cream. Their chicken sandwiches were hot, and as always, filling. The good mood had dissipated when she began to talk.    
  
"How so?" Dawsyn was angry, and upset. She at least expected her friends to be on her side, even if they couldn't understand.   
  
"You've got great parents, Syn. Who cares who your biological ones are?"   
  
"I do, obviously," Dawsyn hissed. Her eyes flared with anger that she had kept under wraps around her parents. "I love my parents. They're fucking amazing. But I'm not doing anything wrong. I just want to know, that's all."   
  
"Does it really make a difference?"   
  
Dawsyn rolled her eyes and snorted. "You can trace your family all the way back to the beginning of the Prussian Empire. Do you know how it feels to know absolutely nothing about yourself? Nothing at all, Boris."   
  
"Who cares? I don't care who my ancestors are. The past is the past," he said. His head lauded to the side, he looked bored. "It doesn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you. Who your ancestors are doesn't define you."   
  
"Shut up, Boris. You know what I mean. I couldn't give a fuck about my ancestors. But I do give a fuck about my birth parents. I want to know who I come from, and what happened."   
  
He stared at her for a minute. Then he looked away and said, "What if you find out they're some drunk and cheap whore?"   
  
Dawsyn felt her hand twitch. She wanted to slap him. "Fuck you."   
  
"I'm being serious, Syn. Listen to me. What if they're something bad? What then?"   
  
"Then at least I'll know that I was better off being adopted either way."   
  
"What a person is has nothing to do with where they come from—not with what body they come from either."   
  
"That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my entire fucking life." Dawsyn hated it when he went Yoda on her. Not only could she not understand him in the heat of the moment, but his words would end up making sense later on when she laid wide awake in her bed at night.   
  
"Do you remember those twins? The ones that were twenty, and still in the eleventh grade," he said.    
  
"Yeah," Dawsyn said. They had failed every quarter, in every class. They could've been pretty girls if they had actually kept up with their personal hygiene, and stayed away from the drugs and alcohol.    
  
"Well, one of them is pregnant now. She works at the Burger King down the street from my house—she smokes as she walks home everyday. She still tries to flirt and pick up guys even though she's about five months pregnant. And guess what, sometimes she scores."   
  
Dawsyn raised an eyebrow with a sneer on her face. "And?"   
  
"And....suppose I had been the poor fucker to knock her up."   
  
Dawsyn's face screwed up.    
  
"Obviously I didn't; I wouldn't touch her with a teen foot pole. But then again, I could've. Half of the guys at school has fucked one, or both of them. So imagine if she was carrying my child. She probably wouldn't even know it's mine. But imagine if she gave birth, not having a single clue who's it could be. Do you think that child would have anything to do with me?"   
  
"Yes," Dawsyn said immediately without hesitation, firmly. "What if it came out looking exactly like you? And even if it didn't it's still apart of you. It would be your flesh and blood, your child. Don't tell me it wouldn't drive you crazy knowing that there's someone made up of half of you out in this world, and you don't know shit about them."   
  
"No, it wouldn't, because if that had been my child I would want it to be adopted. That girl's baby is probably a mistake, and without a doubt to be born sickly. So what if you find out that you were once that baby? Conceived because someone was walking the streets and the other had a couple bucks spent on beer. Would it matter then?"   
  
Dawsyn wasn't stupid. She had laid awake at night for years, conjuring up every possible reason to why her birth parents had given her up. Had they been too young? Too poor? Had it even been their choice at all? What if they were drug addicts and the state hadn't given them anything except adoption? Scenario after scenario had ran through her mind, leaving her mentally exhausted and emotionally unstable. So the picture that Boris was painting was nothing new.    
  
But she didn't want to believe it. She tried not think that maybe, just maybe, her biological parents were bad people. Or if not bad people, then maybe they had made regrettable choices that had led up to her existence. Those thoughts and more were all the reason she had to do this.    
  
"Do you think that my mother was a prostitute? And that my father was some drunk? Do you think I was a sickly mistake?"   
  
He glanced out the car window, a look of indifference on his face, watching the traffic.    
  
"Do you?" Dawsyn challenged.   
  
"No," he said finally. And she knew that he was telling the truth.    
  
"Neither do I, asshole. I think for whatever reason, somewhere out there two people gave me up so that I could have a better life. That maybe they think of me as often as I think of them. Maybe they wonder where I am. Who I've become. Boris, I have to do this."   
  
And he just nodded his head. Boris knew that Dawsyn was stubborn, but the girl was also passionate. She may not have been an open book, but Dawsyn wore her heart on her sleeve and the last thing he wanted was to see her hurt.    
  
"Hey, Syn," he mumbled as they began the drive back to school.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Just don't get hurt."   
  
She was quiet for a minute, eyes trained a little too intently on the road. "I think it'll hurt my parents the most," she finally admitted. She had said it so softly that she thought Boris hadn't heard her at first, but he did.   
  
The comforting hand that squeezed her knee made her stomach do summersaults.    
  
He smiled, which was rare of him to do. "I got your back."

 

* * *

 

"Have you guys thought about it yet?"

  
Reiner sighed. "Syn, we haven't forgotten, ok? Just give us more time to talk about it."   
  
"So you've talked about it? Why haven't you talked to me?"   
  
"We will, Syn. Just give us time."   
  
"How much time?"   
  
"Just a little more. This isn't easy for us."   
  
"It isn't for me either."   
  
"I know, bug," Reiner said gently. "All we ask for is your patience." He hugged her. 

  
Dawsyn clung to him, fighting back the tears. Her father was an amazing man, and she loved him. She couldn't understand why that wasn't enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Surprisingly, it had been Ymir who ended up being the voice of reason. She came into Dawsyn's room and shut the door behind her.

  
"Hey, Syn, what's up with you and your parents?" She asked.   
  
Face down, shoved into a pillow, Dawsyn groaned. "Don't even ask."   
  
Ymir plopped down on the bed, and casually laid next to the teenager. "C'mon, tell me."   
  
Dawsyn turned around, facing the ceiling. "I'm surprised they haven't told you."   
  
"Yeah, me, too." Ymir grinned. "You're their second favorite thing to complain about."   
  
"What's the first?" Dawsyn asked.   
  
"Don't try and change the subject," Ymir said. She brushed Dawsyn's black locks out of her face. "Let me fool with you hair. How are you going to wear it on graduation?"   
  
Dawsyn moved like her limbs were made out of sand. She sat up, and Ymir moved behind her to gather her thick, heavy hair into her hands. She separated it into sections and began to braid it with efficient fingers. "You should do a crown braid."   
  
Dawsyn mulled the thought over in her head as she felt her body go lax. "Yeah, I think that would look cute, but I gotta wear that stupid cap. It would just irritate my head."   
  
Ymir rearranged the bundle of hair lower, at Dawsyn's neck. Reaching over to the vanity, Ymir grabbed the mirror so Dawsyn could see. It made her look older, more sophisticated.    
  
They stared at their paired images in the mirror. Ymir's hair was light, straight, and short: the kind of hair that always looked the same, no matter how she tried to re-do it. She pouted at herself, making her dimples appear, and she crossed her eyes and giggled. Then she released Dawsyn's hair so that it fell thick and wavy again.    
  
"You're so beautiful," she said to the teenager.   
  
Dawsyn rolled her eyes. She wondered if it was normal to get sick and tired of hearing the same compliment for years. Enough people had told her that she was beautiful, so she started to believe it. But she wondered if all of her other great traits would be swept under the rug just because of some physical attributes.   
  
"I drank seven beers at Hitch's party last week," Dawsyn said with a disgusted face. "I didn't feel beautiful throwing up."   
  
"No one does, kid." Ymir laughed. "Bet that taught you a lesson."   
  
"Yeah. It taught me that I shouldn't ignore my stomach, and I need to learn how to run to the bathroom faster when intoxicated." Dawsyn scrunched up her button nose. "It was disgusting. I threw up all over the kitchen floor. And the worst part was that I had to clean it all up."   
  
"I believe that's called tough love." Krista and Reiner would let Dawsyn drink and experiment within reason, but if she fucked something up she had to fix it all on her own. "Next time you should space them out. How fast did you drink seven beers?"   
  
"Under fifteen minutes. It was a contest and I won," Dawsyn explained. She sounded pleased with herself as she was named the victor, and Ymir figured that someone had challenged her. Dawsyn had a smart head on her shoulders, but all bets were off when someone dared her to do something. She was too stubborn and too competitive.    
  


“Who caught you?”

 

“Dad. He was up when I came home,” Dawsyn laughed. “He said I looked like Oscar the Grouch, minus the fuzzy face.”

 

Ymir laughed, too.

 

“I was too busy puking my guts out to be offended.”

 

“Well, if you keep up being such a casual drinker you'll learn how to clean up after yourself. Rose, my mother, used to always be grossed out by it. She was disappointed with me, too. And my dad, Carl, was never home to help me when I first came home drunk, so I had to look at everything. And clean it up. I didn't faint, but I did throw up, and Rose just told me to clear out the bathroom and went into the other room. She just started to ignore me whenever I was drunk. If she avoided me, then my issues and drunkenness didn't exist. It was part of being an adult, she said. And if I really wanted to get out of there as soon as I had turned eighteen, I would have to learn how to deal with it all.”

 

“Hey, Ymir? How come you always call your parents by their names?”

 

“Oh. Krista and Reiner never told you? I thought they did.”

 

“Told me what?”

 

“Well, it's kind of a long story. But….I'm adopted,” Ymir admitted.

 

Dawsyn’s eyes rounded. “You are?” Ymir nodded her head. “How did you find out?”

 

“I was just like you—I never didn’t know. Being adopted is a part of who I am, it was woven in to the thread of my identity; brown hair, tall, brown eyes, button nose, freckles, insensitive, adopted. My adoption was handled through an agency. I was born in a small town hospital and I was given to my adoptive parents when I was two months old. Growing up, I had internalized my parents’ matter-of-fact approach to the subject, and by the time I was in elementary school, being adopted hardly seemed worth mentioning. I remember people always asking me if my birth parents couldn't or wouldn't take care of me when they found out I was adopted. But who cared if they could or couldn’t, didn’t want to or simply didn’t care? I was a quite, smart child who insisted on wearing only pants to school and who commanded the room during Christmas parties by standing on the kids table, and making people listen to me belt out carols. I was actually delightful, believe it or not. As far as I was concerned, if these mysterious people didn’t want me, it was their loss. 

 

“Things changed by the time I entered high school. I started to slack off in my school work, began running with the wrong crowd. And like I said, Rose thought that if she avoided any issues that they would just go away. So as she started to just ignore me, I began to act out even more. I lied, I cheated, and I stole. I was a selfish person, but I didn't care. The ignorance got so bad that I began to do drugs, like marijuana and taking pills, right under their noses, but they just didn't acknowledge it. They were strict, hardworking, honest and good in many ways, but work came first and the same was expected from me. But it was pretty clear that I was quickly becoming a failure to them. 

 

“A few of years later I came home from college to visit and my parents had something to tell me. My mind immediately leapt to divorce, since that was the only thing I could imagine warranting such seriousness. I was kind of hoping that's what it was actually. Rose and Carl hadn't been happy together in years, and it had been constant fighting for so long. Instead, they sat me down and told me that I had a half sister who had called and left a message. They hadn't even known that she had existed, but for the first time they could finally tell me more. My biological parents were fresh out of high school with a newborn baby that they couldn't support, so that's what led to my adoption. They broke up not even a month after my birth. My biological father had died from alcoholism, and my mother, a few years after my adoption, had died in a car accident. My half sister and I shared the same mother, and she was interested in meeting me. She was only eighteen and had just had a baby.   
  
“I don’t remember the conversation very clearly, but I gathered they felt indifferent towards the whole thing. They were just concerned she might be after money. They said the decision to talk to her was up to me, and I told them no, I didn’t want to. It was easy to see their expressions of relief. It wasn’t until several years after I had graduated from college that I thought more about the biological relatives I never knew. Out of the blue, my half sister had contacted me via Facebook, introducing herself, and I wrote back, which led one winter day to me going to visit her and her daughter in a sleepy town where she grew up and still lived with her paternal grandmother. 

 

“I drove through icy roads, and as I pulled into the driveway to this run-down whitewashed house, I realized just how different our worlds really were. She was out of work, other than the odd part-time waitress gig. She had enrolled in college briefly but dropped out after less than a year. She drank too much. She told me she had been fired by every employer in town, or else had worked there once already and quit. She had no car, and said she felt trapped. The next summer my half sister invited me to a family reunion where I would meet my grandmother and several aunts and uncles. It was an outdoor picnic lunch, and they told me a little about my birth mother. As a child she was good at everything without even trying; dancing, painting, riding a bicycle. Apparently, however, she was also naturally attracted to trouble and had a history of drug addiction and alcohol abuse, though she avoided it while pregnant, they assured me.   
  
“At that time I was staying with my parents, and after months of living under the same roof as them again tensions among us were high. My mother asked me how it went, and I told her it was fine, that I had a good time. Then she finally asked the million dollar question: Do you consider them your family? I told her I did. How couldn't I? Of course, I told her that she was my family, too, though it should have gone without saying. The next day I was reading a book in the living room when she sat down next to me and handed me the file. I flipped through it without really reading anything. I didn't think about how strange it was that she would hand over such an overwhelming collection of information without a word about what I might find.

 

“It wasn't until months later when I had the courage to read any of it. One night I gave in to curiosity and opened the folders with a girlfriend. I was entranced as I turned over page after page. But I completely lost it when I came across a letter my biological mother had written to me when I was two. It was shaky, barely legible cursive more typical of an elderly person than a young woman. The letter was a page long, on notebook paper. Near the beginning she wrote,  _ The reason why you are adopted is because of the risk of poverty. _ And she concluded with:  _ Your father and I share the pain of losing you, but we love you, and this was done not with a mistaken message and I try to do my best also. _

_   
_ “There  were strong emotions she was trying to convey, but much of the letter made no sense, and it infuriated me. I remembered that I cried, and was so mad that she tried to write me a letter and this is the best that she could do. The files contained a jumble of documents, many of them court papers about guardianship. Evidently my parents had spent a lot of time and energy trying to legally adopt me, and there were notes from caseworkers apologizing about delays and complications. Somehow greeting cards that my biological mother tried to send to me were in there, and an evaluation of my birth mother from a hospital stay when she was seventeen. Suffice to say, she was troubled. A few weeks after I was born, a disposition report from a social worker contained the ominous statement:  _ The mother, at this point, is a dangerously inadequate custodian. Placement with mother is a threat to the child. _ __   
  


“One court document described a particularly desperate night when she tried to give me away to an incredulous couple at a bar. Out of concern, they took me and called the police. I was taken into foster care, but the situation didn’t improve; one account of her behavior during a visit with me recounts her screaming at my temporary foster mother, pouring milk from my bottle over her head, and storming out of the house. My birth mother died in 1978 on a dark roadway somewhere in Vermont. A newspaper article stashed between court documents displayed a photograph of a Mini Cooper with its hood caved in and windshield shattered. She died an unidentified white woman  _ in her mid-20s _ according to the police, though she was actually 30.

_   
_ “In a strange way, the file has changed my perception of my own behavior. A social worker observed that while my birth mother was pregnant with me and living in a group home, her ability to communicate “was somewhat difficult to follow at times and made it hard for certain residents to take her seriously.” And that fucking scared me to death. When I’m nervous, I tend to ramble in a nonlinear way, or make people uncomfortable with my unintentionally blunt responses. I had accepted these quirks as part of who I am; now I twisted the mannerisms into insidious character flaws—signs of some impending unraveling.   
  
“A part of me hates the file and wishes it never existed. But some bits I treasure, and I read them over as a mental salve when the rest of it leaves me feeling depressed. Not only does it help me understand my parents’ attitude toward my biological family, it reminds me of how truly lucky I was and am: how my life could have been different had my adoptive parents not endured years of uncertainty and stressful battles in trying to legally make me their child. Throughout the documents are reminders of my parents’ dedication and how their love for me was obvious to everyone from the start. Even if we butted heads a lot. I found myself smiling when I read a report that said:  __ Present placement is very stable, safe, nurturing, warm and provides Ymir with a sense of permanency….the current caretakers are very, very much interested in adoption if the child is freed.  I’m glad they stuck it out.”

 

Dawsyn sat silently, staring at Ymir with wonderment. “I never knew that. Why did you tell me that?”

 

“Because I understand, Syn,” Ymir said. “Even though I didn't want to know at first, I can honestly admit that it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders when I finally knew the truth.”

 

“I might need to booze up for this shit.”

 

Ymir grinned. “You sound like your mother.”

 

“Thank you,” Dawsyn said suddenly. “You still want to know what's going on between me and my parents? Read this, and tell me what I should do.”

 

She handed Ymir the sheet of paper that was just collecting dust on her desk. Ymir uncurled herself and read it over. 

 

“I think,” Ymir said slowly when she finished, “that you should do whatever you think you need to do. No one can understand what you feel but you. And if this is something that you really want to do, then I'll help however I can.”

 

“Thanks, Ymir. But I think this is something I need to do on my own. I'm just glad that someone finally understands.”

 

“There is one thing I can do,” Ymir said seriously.

 

“What?”

 

“I can talk to your parents for you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ymir deserved better in the manga/anime. That's all I got to say.
> 
> Comment and kudos, and I'll see y'all next time. By the way, go check out my other two AOT stories if you want.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you to everyone who left a comment, kudos, and/or added it your bookmarks.


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